


only happy accidents

by nishtabel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Oral Sex, Squirting, Trans Claude von Riegan, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishtabel/pseuds/nishtabel
Summary: He looks up at Claude with heat-bright eyes, blue swallowed by eager black. “Do you want my mouth?” he asks, shy even with three fingers rubbing insistently over the heat of Claude’s groin.Claude pretends to consider. “I don’t know,” he says, tilting his head and breathing hard around a moan when Dimitri’s thumb grinds against his swollen cock. “Where do you wanna put it?”Or: Dimitri's been studying, but not at math.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 16
Kudos: 182





	only happy accidents

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much to my anonymous commissioner for this idea! i hope you like it 💕
> 
> NOTE: claude is trans in this fic; all terms used are amab.

Dimitri had shown up at Claude’s dorm at eight p.m., ostensibly to study; he’d had three textbooks in hand and his phone in his pocket, on which he’d shown Claude an extremely impressive and overpriced calculator app.

“It’s only ten dollars,” he’d said, always defensive with money. Claude had laughed and nudged him, coloring only a bit when Dimitri had added, “If you think it’d help you, like—with homework, uh. I mean, I’d buy it for you.”

“So romantic,” Claude had laughed, before pulling out his old TI-84. “This is fine, though. I can always just check my shit on Wolfram Alpha.”

Dimitri had looked unconvinced, of course, but he’d gone with it, turning his blushing face back to their Statistics textbook. “If you change your mind,” he’d said, “let me know.”

Claude _does_ change his mind, as a matter of fact: thirty minutes into studying, he decides he’s sick of sitting three inches from Dimitri’s thick, warm thighs, his own legs pressed together in an effort to ignore the heat that threatens to overwhelm his gut. “Hey,” he says, nudging Dimitri with his elbow. “Wanna fuck around?”

Dimitri has never been one to say _yes_ so enthusiastically, always embarrassed by his own desire, but his pupils blow wide and his tongue darts between his lips with a nervous tic, and when he nods Claude knows he means it.

“Bed,” Claude says with a grin, and Dimitri follows him without recourse.

They fall together easily, now: Claude with his back to the sheets, shirt pulled off with a hasty shrug, and Dimitri’s chest pressed hot and heavy against his own. Their legs tangle and Claude relishes the rush of skin on skin, hair against hair, and he laughs a little because he never thought the static hush of leg hair would be hot or romantic _but_ —any part of Dimitri’s body on his leaves him feverish. He swallows Dimitri’s tongue with a moan and the jut of his knee between Dimitri’s legs.

Dimitri attacks his neck next, teeth and tongue and drool. Claude won’t let him leave hickeys, as much as Dimitri has begged: he’s a _professional_ , Claude always tells him, and his neck is off-limits. “Now, thighs,” he says, greedy and cock-drunk already, “are another story.”

Dimitri’s kisses turn gentle at his chest, always reverent and cautious around Claude’s scars. He’d asked, early, “Are you sure it’s alright if I touch them?” and Claude had nodded, hardly sure himself. But Dimitri is sweet and kind, and—he doesn’t linger, only nuzzles the hardening curve of his pec before dipping to his waistband.

He looks up at Claude with heat-bright eyes, blue swallowed by eager black. “Do you want my mouth?” he asks, shy even with three fingers rubbing insistently over the heat of Claude’s groin.

Claude pretends to consider. “I don’t know,” he says, tilting his head and breathing hard around a moan when Dimitri’s thumb grinds against his swollen cock. “Where do you wanna put it?”

Dimitri blinks. “On—” He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing. “On you. On your—”

Claude smiles. “‘Cock’ is fine, baby. Or—‘hole,’ I guess. I prefer ‘cock,’ though.”

Dimitri nods and nuzzles Claude’s thigh. “Thank you,” he says, placing a kiss just below Claude’s cock. “For. Telling me.”

“Of course, baby,” Claude says, and rolls his hips against Dimitri’s palm. “You gonna eat me out, or what?”

He watches the words strike Dima, rolling through his body with an ardent shiver and a deep-pulled groan. “Yes,” Dimitri whines, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his hips strike the bed. His big hands clench at Claude’s hips, his thighs, and Claude allows himself a breathy moan when Dimitri begins to pull at his pants.

Dimitri often stops to fold Claude’s clothes before diving between his legs, but Claude must have caught him on a good night, because Dimitri simply shucks Claude’s pants from his ankles and drops them in a heap beside the bed. “What a dirty boy,” Claude can’t help but say, laughter in his voice even as he feels himself leak.

Claude’s laughter dies quickly once Dimitri’s open mouth finds his hole, falling off with a groan as Dimitri begins to lick him open. Dimitri’s not—particularly talented, Claude thinks, but what he lacks in skill he makes up for in enthusiasm, always loud and messy and utterly devoted. Claude struggles to keep his head up as Dimitri sucks at his cock in earnest, sloppy and wet where Claude’s slick drips from his chin. Claude’s hips roll against Dimitri’s face on their own, breaking their rhythm and stuttering each time Dimitri’s thick tongue breaches him.

He’s halfway to wailing by the time Dimitri pulls back and asks, “Can you take a finger?”

Claude could _cry_. “Yes, yes,” he says, voice broken and fingers clutched tight in Dimitri’s hair. It’s with quiet authority and impatience that he guides Dimitri’s mouth back to his cock. “One finger, two, I—” His mouth falls open in a silent gasp when Dimitri slips the first finger in, thick and knobby and every bit as perfect as it had been the first time. Dimitri isn’t shy, not here: while his face may still be guarded, hidden between Claude’s legs with eyes shut tight in wake of his task, Dimitri’s finger is brutal, _demanding_ ; it fucks Claude open until Claude is begging for a second, a third, wailing and begging and thrashing when Dimitri curls them up and _thrusts_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Claude cries, head thrown back, eyes unseeing. His own hands grip tight in Dimitri’s mess of hair, holding his face against his hole in order to chase those fingers, that tongue. “Fuck, Dima, just like that, I’m almost—almost—”

Dimitri, damn him, keeps rubbing at him, callused fingers harsh against his upper walls as he finds Claude’s cock and _sucks_. It’s with a wild cry that Claude comes, a slow, shivering sensation that rocks his entire body and finds him arching from the bed with a wail. Dimitri fucks him through it, tongue heavy against his cock, until Claude finally tugs him away with a mangled sob.

It takes him a moment to find his words, breath heaving from his lungs in great gasps. “Fuck,” he says, fingers trembling against Dimitri’s scalp. He glances down as an afterthought, dark clouds still swimming across his vision. “That was—” He stops when he sees Dimitri’s face. “Fuck. Shit. I’m—”

Dimitri’s face is _soaked_. Claude’s cum drips from his nose and chin and darkens the ends of his blond hair. His eyes are wide as though in surprise, and his mouth is— _fuck_.

“I’m so sorry,” Claude says, bordering on frantic. “I’ve never—I’ve never done that before, I didn’t—mean to—”

Dimitri shuffles onto his elbows, eyebrows still raised. With slow certainty, eyes locked on Claude’s, he licks his lips, teeth dragging against the swell of his lower lip. His voice is wrecked when he says, “There’s no need to apologize, Claude,” and Claude shivers at the sound.

“You’re a mess,” says Claude as he attempts to sit up, searching for something to wipe Dimitri’s face. “You didn’t—know that was gonna happen, I need a towel, or—or something. Hold on, I’ll—”

Dimitri’s hand stops him, warm on his hip. “Claude,” he says, deep and low in his throat. Claude feels himself throb in the wake of his orgasm, hole clenching weakly. “Stay. Please.”

Slowly, Claude lowers himself back down. After a breath, he says, “I feel bad.”

Dimitri smiles. “Don’t.” He kisses the side of Claude’s knee and adds, “It was—hot.”

“I mean, I guess, but—”

“Stop it,” Dimitri says, rising to nuzzle Claude’s armpit. “If I was upset about it, I wouldn’t have come, would I?”

Claude stops. “What?”

Dimitri’s face is red when he admits, “I came. In my pants.”

“Holy shit, Dima.”

“Yeah. So don’t—there’s. No need to feel bad.”

Claude stares at the top of Dimitri’s head where it’s buried against his chest. If he cranes his neck, he can see the dark spot seeping into the crotch of his sweatpants. “Holy shit,” he says again. “You came in your pants.”

Dimitri nods against him, shifting uncomfortably. “Yeah.”

Laughter breaks from Claude in a rush, frayed at the edges. “Fuck me,” he mutters. Then: “Guess I gotta learn to do it again, huh?”

With a quiet mumble, barely loud enough to hear, Dimitri says, “Please.”

**Author's Note:**

> i have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/nishtabel)


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